


Heart of the North

by ladyofthenorthernlights



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Also fluff, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Bellamy is a big soft boi, Bellamy is really good to Murphy though, He doesn't do anything he doesn't want, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Language Barrier, M/M, Murphy is painfully clueless, Murphy wanted to kill himself because life at the monastery was so terrible, Shameless Smut, Vikings, it's just implied for other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofthenorthernlights/pseuds/ladyofthenorthernlights
Summary: John Murphy was only 16 when his father started searching for a suitable wife for him, but John had no interest in women. To avoid marriage, he left to become a monk at a monastery, not knowing that it one day would be attacked by ruthless Northmen, or that he would be carried away by a handsome, yet fierce warrior named Bellamy. At first, he did not understand what this man wanted from him, but once he did, he realised why he had no interest in women.





	Heart of the North

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, I've had this sitting in my WIPs since 2017, and I figured it was time to finish it!
> 
> This fic is loosely based on the beginning of season 1 of Vikings, but also the beginning of season 1 of Game of Thrones, with the language barrier between Drogo and Daenerys. 
> 
> The norse language I have used is a mixture of old-norwegian and norse, translations will be at the end of the fic!

John Murphy had been 16 when his father had started looking for suitable women for him to wed. Being the son of a farmer, he didn’t have many prospects, but his father had hopes of finding a merchant’s daughter, or perhaps a serving girl working for some lord, just to get his only son out of poverty. But the thought of taking a wife had never really appealed to John. He had thought about it many times, trying to imagine what it must be like to settle down and have children of his own. But he couldn’t do it. No matter how hard, he could not picture himself with sons and daughters, or with a wife for that matter. And so, he asked his father to become a monk.

 

He’d never been particularly religious, but as a monk, he would learn to read and write, and maybe even travel to faraway countries on pilgrimages. It was an honourable life, and when he asked, his father could not deny it to him.

 

On his 17th nameday, his father sent him to a monastery by the sea, in the back of a turnip-cart, with no other possessions than the clothes on his back. And so, John Murphy escaped the life of poverty, and started a new life as an apprentice at the monastery.

 

Because he was not yet a sworn brother, he did not have to cut his hair in their fashion, but he was required to wear their robes, and observe their customs. Pray with them, join them at mass, and participate in all their activities.

 

The first few months were spent learning to read and write. He was not particularly good, the letters swimming and changing before his eyes, and his teacher, Brother Charles, was not a very patient man. He would beat John, believing that he had the devil in him, and that the devil was changing the letters before his eyes. The beating did not help, and John would go to bed with bruises beneath his robes, where no one would see. Sometimes he would cry himself to sleep. Other times, he would stare into the wall, praying for something terrible to happen to Brother Charles.

 

Every morning, they would gather in the chapel for mass, and after the first two weeks, John knew every prayer by heart. Although to him, they were empty words. If there truly was a god, he would not let Brother Charles beat him.

 

When winter came, John received word that his father had passed away. A fever had taken him, and upon hearing this, John started blaming himself. If he had not left, he could have cared for his father. If he had stayed, he could have saved his life. But instead, he had left him. He had made a selfish choice, and now his father was dead because of him. At some point, his grief turned into hatred. Hatred for himself, for being weak, for being a coward. For leaving his father.

 

By the time spring came, John was the shell of the person he had been when he first came to the monastery. His reading was not improving, so Brother Charles had started beating him harder, convinced that it was the way to make him better. He’d started eating less and less, but no one could see how he was wasting away under the long, heavy wool robes, just as no one could see the green and yellow bruises. He wallowed in self-loathing and pain, wishing more and more every day for an end to this miserable life. Once, he had considered taking the coward’s way out, and found a nice, long rope. But he could not bring himself to tie the noose. He could not condemn himself to a hell worse than the one he was living in now.

 

*

 

They never saw the ships, as the monastery was a short walk inland, behind a hill. But somehow, the Northmen knew where to find them. There were at least fifty of them, armed with swords and axes, carrying heavy round oak shields. And there were women among them too, with braids in their hair, and blood on their faces.

 

In the end, the monks did not put up much of a fight. The Northmen cut through them like a warm knife cuts through cheese, and soon every room was filled with blood, and the courtyard with corpses. Some of the monks tried to run, and some tried to hide. But they were all killed or captured, without discrimination. The Northmen did not care who lived or died.

 

John knew better than to put up a fight. He was no warrior, and he never had been. The only time he had ever held an axe was to chop wood for the fire, and he had not been particularly good at that. So, he hid behind the altar of the chapel, hoping that they would not find him. But of course, they did.

 

The man who found him was tall and muscular, with dark curls and brown eyes. His bronze skin was spattered with red blood, and when John saw him, he cowered further backwards, lifting his hand to shield his face from the blow he was sure would come. The man carried an axe, covered in blood, and John wondered how many of the monks he had killed. Most likely well over a dozen. He closed his eyes and prayed it would be quick. But the blow never came.

 

Instead he felt fingers lock around his wrist, and he was yanked to his feet. Another hand gripped his jaw, and then the warrior was turning his face, studying his features with a look in his eyes John did not recognise. He felt himself tremble, and he wished he could stop. Because as fierce as this warrior was, he was handsome. The dark curls fell into his eyes, and now when they were closer, John could see that his face was full of freckles.

 

The Northman said something in his own language, and it sounded almost like a question. John parted his lips, wanting to tell him that he did not understand, but his voice had left him. The man repeated the phrase, and John wished he understood. His voice was deep and rough, the language matching his growling voice perfectly. There were sharp consonants, and strange vowels in the man’s speech, the words harsh in his ears. John had heard the language of the French spoken once, and it had been soft as silk. The language of the Northman sounded as sharp as the axe he was carrying.

 

John was afraid. It was clear that this savage wanted something from him, but he could not tell what. He felt uncomfortable as those dark eyes looked over his face, the hand on his jaw gripping harder. Finally, the Northman let go, and raised his axe to John’s throat instead. He growled something else, and this time John found his voice.

 

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he said, his voice trembling. The Northman must have heard the fear in his voice, for he lowered his axe. For a moment, John hoped he might let him go. But then he was shoved to his knees, and his hands were bound with rough rope. Another rope was looped around his neck, just as three more of the savages entered the chapel. They shouted something to the dark-haired man, laughing among themselves, and the Northman replied with a sneer. John watched helplessly as the men started rummaging through the place, picking up everything that might be of value, and stuffing it in sacks.

 

He wanted to speak up, and call them thieves, but the Northman was pulling at the rope, and John was yanked to his feet. He stumbled after him, the rope digging into the skin of his neck. He did not dare resist. Not here. Not when there were so many of them. And especially not when the Northman was armed.

 

John did not want to die.  It was the one thing he feared the most. The Brothers kept telling him that death was nothing to fear, that he would enter Heaven and live in Paradise for all eternity, but John did not believe them. If he died, he would most likely go to Hell. And so, he’d rather not die.

 

As they passed through the courtyard, John saw the head of Brother Charles mounted on a pike. He should have felt grief, but there was only a sense of justice in John’s heart. He still carried angry bruises from the beating he had received the day before.

 

Suddenly, he remembered his prayers. John had prayed for something bad to happen to Brother Charles. He had prayed for someone to take him away from this place. Had his prayers been answered? If they had, then God must truly be cruel. For as he was led through the courtyard, he saw bodies of monks and apprentices alike. Some were dead. Some were barely alive, begging for mercy. All were bloody, save for a few, who were tied up, and locked in the sheep’s pen with the sheep, like cattle for the Northmen to bring home. It was where the Northman took John.

 

A woman with black hair in intricate braids was guarding the prisoners. She grinned when she saw John’s captor, and said something that sounded a lot like “brother”. The curly-haired Northman returned the grin, and walked up to the woman, pressing their foreheads together. John could not tell if they were brother and sister, or husband and wife. If these savages even had the concept of marriage.

 

The woman said something, and the man laughed, John momentarily forgotten. He wondered if he could run. Slip out of the rope around his neck and try to reach the gates. But he saw men and women with bows, and he doubted they would allow him to get very far. And so, he stood there, looking at the other captured monks. They looked frightened, all of them. John wondered how many of them would be alive come the next full moon. Not many, he thought. Not the weak ones.

 

Finally, his captor seemed to remember him, but he was not shoved into the sheep’s pen with the others. Instead the end of the rope was tied to it, and the curly-haired man growled some words he did not understand, before he walked off.

 

John was left there, shivering. He’d never seen this much blood before, and it almost seemed like a dream to him. The ground was soaked in red, and the bodies of the men he’d once known seemed like broken toys, scattered in the courtyard. They would be left for the crows, he realised. No graves would be dug for them. None of them would be buried in hallowed ground, or had the custom prayers read over them. They meant nothing to the Northmen. And he doubted the men tied up in the sheep’s pen beside him did either.

 

*

 

As the sun set in the sky, they were brought to the boats. There were two of them, but they were like no ships John had ever seen before. One had the head of a dragon carved in the bow, while the other held the head of a bird. They lay low in the water, and their sails were the largest he had ever seen. For a moment, John was fascinated, and he stopped in his tracks. The other end of his rope was being held by the Northman who had captured him, and once he realised that John had stopped, he gave the rope a sharp tug. He was grinning though, and he said something in that strange tongue of his. The words were almost fond, and the brown eyes were on the ships, shining with pride.

 

The ships were loaded before the sun had gone down below the horizon, all the captured monks in one ship, and the treasure and cattle in the other. John noticed huge oars lining the sides of the ship and wondered if the Northmen would make them row. But no, they were placed in the middle of the ship, tied to the mast, and the Northmen took their places by the oars.

 

John watched in fascination as the Northmen put the oars into the sea and started rowing in unison. There were two men per oar, and they worked together like they were one. His Northman, the one with the curls, was rowing with the woman from earlier. And as far as John could see, everyone on the ship was working. Only one was sitting by the steering board. Was he the leader? John didn’t know.

 

They rowed for what must have been hours before finally, they put up the sail. Someone else took the place by the steering board, and the rest of the Northmen either found some food to eat or settled down to sleep.

 

A couple of Northmen went around to the monks, offering them food and water. Most of the monks refused, though some accepted. The curly headed Northman squatted down in front of John and offered him a cup of water. He still had blood on his face from the attack, but the fierceness was gone from his eyes. Instead there was a soft look that John had never expected from this man.

 

He said something and gestured to the cup. John took the cup and drank. It was water, a bit lukewarm, but still good. The Northman watched as he drank, then offered him what looked like a piece of meat. It was a bit awkward with his hands bound, so the Northman took the cup from his hands, and held it for him.

 

The meat was salty, but good, and John ate it all. He didn’t know when he would get more, after all. When he was done, the Northman offered him the cup again, and John drank the rest of the water. Seemingly satisfied, the Northman got up, said something, and went over to the front of the ship, where the woman had prepared some furs and blankets. He lay down next to her, but they did not embrace. They simply lay next to each other. Perhaps they were brother and sister then.

 

*

 

John couldn’t sleep. They were out in the middle of the open ocean, heading somewhere unknown. He didn’t know who these people were, or what they wanted with them. The most likely answer were slaves, but what if it was something else? These raiders seemed to have little regard for human lives, considering the way they had laughed when slaughtering his fellow monks. Did they sacrifice humans? Did they eat them? He didn’t know.

 

He also found it strange that his Northman had taken such interest in him. John remembered the way he’d looked at him, but he couldn’t tell what he was thinking. What he was intending to do with him. At least that much was clear. He belonged to that curly-haired Northman. He’d taken him, singled him out, and treated him differently than the other monks. Why? What did he want with him?

 

In the end, John managed to get some sleep. There was barley any room to lie down, and the hard boards didn’t make for a very good bed. But he still slept, and when he woke, the sun was up again. The Northmen were just getting up as well, and he could see some of them standing up and pissing into the sea. A part of John was tempted to get up and push them overboard. But no, that would certainly get him killed.

 

He turned his gaze away from them, and found his Northman watching him. He was still laying on the furs in the front of the boat, but he was propped up on his elbow, watching John. That look was back in his eyes, and John wished he knew what it meant. At least then he would have some idea of what would happen.

 

*

 

The journey across the open ocean was a lot harder than John thought it would be. Sitting still proved to be incredibly difficult, and the waves sometimes made him feel sick. The Northmen didn’t even seem to notice the waves. It was as if they had lived all their lives on ships like this one, but that couldn’t be true. John saw no children on the boats, even though there were women. It fascinated him how the women were just as fierce as the men. Just as bloodthirsty. The woman his Northman had been talking to seemed to be the fiercest of them all. He could tell that she enjoyed killing.

 

The nights were the worst. It got colder with every passing day, and John often found himself unable to sleep because his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. On the third night, the first of the monks died. If it was from thirst or hypothermia, John didn’t know. The Northmen dumped his body unceremoniously into the sea and continued their journey as if nothing had happened.

 

On the fifth night, John couldn’t sleep. He was too cold, and he couldn’t feel his fingers or toes anymore. His breath was coming out in misty fog, and he knew that he would most likely freeze to death before they reached wherever it was these people called home.

 

He was sitting leaned against the mast, hands tucked against his chest, knees pulled up against him, when he felt something warm drape around his shoulders. When he looked up, he saw the curly-haired Northman drape a woollen blanket around his shoulders. He must have been sleeping in it himself, because the blanket was toasty warm. John looked up in surprise, barely making out that freckled face in the moonlight.

 

“Thank you,” he said weakly. He didn’t know what else to say. The Northman nodded, and made to stand up, but John reached out and grabbed his sleeve. It was rather awkward with the way his hands were bound, but the Northman stopped and looked at him.

 

“What’s your name?” John asked. Hoping that he would understand. Needing him to understand. He had no idea who these people were, or where they were going, so he had to know something before they reached this strange land. And this man clearly cared about him. All John wanted was his name.

 

The Northman said something John didn’t understand, and John sighed. Asking wasn’t going to do him any good. This man had no idea what he was saying, and John didn’t understand anything of the Northman’s tongue either. So, he pointed at himself, making sure the Northman saw.

 

“John,” he said, making sure he said it very clearly. The Northman was watching him, and he nodded slowly. Hopefully in understanding.

 

“John,” the Northman repeated, tasting the name. It sounded strange coming from his mouth, so much harsher. The consonants all different. The pronunciation slightly off. But it was close enough, and John hoped he understood.

 

He then pointed to the Northman, expectation in his eyes. All he wanted was his name, so he at least knew something about this man. The Northman seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he spoke.

 

“Bellamy,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Ek heitir Bellamy.”

 

“Bellamy,” John repeated, and the Northman nodded. It was a strange name. A foreign name. But John hadn’t expected anything less.

 

“Thank you, Bellamy,” John said, and he meant it. The blanket would no doubt keep him alive. Once more, he wondered why he was so special to this Northman. To Bellamy. What was going to happen to him? He wished he could ask, but he doubted Bellamy would understand. And it seemed like Bellamy was done talking for tonight.

 

He said something in his own language, and then he got up. John didn’t stop him this time, and instead watched as he crossed back over to his bed of blankets and furs. Surely, he had more than enough, and could share with some of the other monks. But he hadn’t. He’d only shared with John. He clearly didn’t care for the rest.

 

*

 

They reached land after eight days on open waters. Food and water were already running low, and the rations had been slimmer for the last few days. Still, John was sure he had gotten more to eat and drink than his fellow monks. Three more had died during their journey, and their bodies had been given to the sea. Perhaps this was how the Northmen crossed the open ocean with such certainty; the sea would give them safe passage, as long as they gave the sea it’s due.

 

It was foggy, so John didn’t realise they had reached land until he looked up and saw a snow-capped mountain towering above them. It was higher than any mountain he had ever seen before, and it went straight down into the ocean, with no strip of land between. It was both magnificent and terrifying. He turned his head, expecting to see the open ocean, but there was another mountain on the other side. They were sailing into a valley of sorts, with only sea between the mountains.

 

“Fjord,” he heard that familiar voice say, and he turned to see Bellamy looking at him in amusement.

 

Was that the name of the place? Of their strange country. Or was that what they called this kind of landscape. John wasn’t sure.

 

They were clearly getting close to wherever these people lived, because he could hear the chatter rise. The voices turning more excited. No doubt they were eager to return to their families. To their wives and children. They must have been gone for weeks, after all. Despite himself, John found himself wondering if Bellamy had a wife. He must have, good looking man like him. John couldn’t imagine anyone turning him down.

 

It was still hours of sailing until John spotted what looked like a village deep inside the fjord. It didn’t look like much, at least not from here. No high towers and walls, just houses scattered about. The mountains around them were still as tall and intimidating as they had been, but John also thought them beautiful. They were tall and majestic and slightly terrifying, just like the man who was still looking at him.

 

*

 

The monks were brought on shore first. Herded together, their hands all bound to one single rope before they were filed off. Everyone except John. He was left sitting in the boat, hands tied, the woollen blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. It seemed he wouldn’t face the same fate as the rest. He knew then that he was Bellamy’s property. But why? Did Bellamy have some sort of authority? He must have, or else he wouldn’t get to choose a slave just like that.

 

John knew that he was a slave now. But how different could it be from being a monk, really? Somehow, he didn’t think Bellamy would beat him.

 

It wasn’t Bellamy who took him on land though, it was two other men. He had seen Bellamy talk to them, and then they had come for him. He was unceremoniously yanked to his feet, and forced to walk on stiff, aching legs. The moment he set his foot on the pier, he swore he could still feel the rolling of the waves. But he didn’t have time to think of it, as he was led away from the ships, and into the village.

 

There were several small houses down by the sea, and John could see chickens walking around on the earthy paths. There were pens with goats and cattle, and he was pretty sure he could hear a blacksmith working somewhere, the sound of a hammer on metal faint on the wind. They lead him to a house at the foot of a hill. It wasn’t a particularly steep hill, and on top of it sat a long hall in wood, with carved dragons on the roof and by the doors. John barely had time to look at it before he was shoved inside.

 

It took him a moment to get accustomed to the dim light, a hole in the roof the only source. There were three women inside, and they looked confused when they saw the newcomer.

 

One of the men who had brought John here said something in that rough tongue, and the girls started moving around. A huge tub was fetched, and one of the girls left while carrying two buckets. Before John had any time to wonder what was going on, the ropes around his wrists were cut, and the two men left, closing the door behind them.

 

John looked over at the two remaining girls, wondering if they were slaves too. One of them, a girl with long, blonde hair and a kind smile walked up to him. She said something he did not understand, and he sighed.

 

“I can’t,” he said, tired of not knowing what was going on. “I can’t understand you.”

 

“You’re from England?” she asked, and John just stared at her. He couldn’t believe it. Someone who spoke his language. Someone who could explain to him where he was, and why he was there.

 

“Yes,” he said, feeling relieved. “Yes, I’m from Wessex. I was a monk, and they raided our monastery. My brothers and I were taken captive, but most were killed. I have no idea where I am, or why I am here.”

 

The girl nodded in understanding. John couldn’t even begin to describe how happy he was now. For days, he had tried to understand. He had tried to figure out where they were going, and he had settled with never knowing. He did not speak their language, and he had never imagined finding someone here who spoke his.

 

“You are in Nidheim,” the girl said. “The seat of Jarl Marcus. My name is Harper. I came here from Northumbria many years ago.”

 

This didn’t help John a lot. He had no idea where this place was, or who this Jarl Marcus was. But he did know Northumbria, and he already felt like he had a friend in Harper.

 

“I’m John,” he said. “Do you know why they brought me here? All the other monks were taken away, but I was taken here.”

 

This time, Harper didn’t answer right away. It was as if she wasn’t quite sure herself. Or she was finding out how to say it without making it sound horrifying. Perhaps they meant to sacrifice him to whatever god they believed in? Perhaps these girls were going to be sacrificed too? Or they were just the ones who prepared the sacrifices.

 

“We were told to wash you, and give you clean clothes,” Harper said, somewhat hesitantly. “And then we’re to bring you up to the longhouse.”

 

To the house on the hill. The one with the carved dragons. Was it a temple of sorts? Was it where the sacrificing was done? Or maybe it was the seat of this Jarl Marcus. Perhaps he was to be brought there as a trophy?

 

“Do you know what they will do with me?” he asked, trying not to sound as frightened as he felt. “Do you know why I was chosen?”

 

“No,” Harper said. “I don’t know what will happen to you. All I know is that there will most likely be a feast tonight, to welcome back the warriors. Perhaps they just want to show off the new slaves.”

 

John swallowed. He hoped he wouldn’t be led around like an animal before he was auctioned off. But it wasn’t unlikely either. He was a slave now, after all. And if he wanted to stay alive, then he had to be a slave, too. Running away would most likely get him killed. And what good would it do, anyway? For all he knew, he was on an island, and there was no getting away. Besides, England was an island. Without a ship, there was no way he would get back. And the monastery was gone. He had nothing to go back to.

 

*

 

The water felt almost scolding warm after spending days out on the sea. He was sitting in the tub, knees pulled up to his chest, as the three girls scrubbed him down with clothes. The two others, Fox and Zoe, did not speak his language. Only the tongue of the Northmen, and whatever they had spoken before they came here.

 

Thankfully, Harper didn’t insist on talking. John didn’t know if he would be able to, without throwing up. He felt like a pig being prepared for slaughter. Perfumed with scented oils and soaps, sweat and grime scrubbed away until his skin was raw. They washed his hair, and then braided it back, so it would not fall in his face. He was dried off, and put in trousers and a tunic of linen, and soft leather shoes. Clothes that would be easy to remove. He tried not to think about it, but it was impossible. How could he not worry about whether he would be naked when he was sacrificed. Or perhaps they would remove his clothes to get a proper look on him, before deciding to buy him.

 

When the girls seemed satisfied with their work, they brought John up to the hall. But instead of taking him through what he assumed was the front door, he was led in through another, smaller door. As soon as he was inside, he could smell food cooking, and he realised he was starving. He looked to Harper, who only nodded at him. He would get to eat before they took him wherever he was supposed to go.

 

The hall appeared to consist of several rooms, and he was brought into one that held a roaring fire in the very centre, and elevated wooden platforms on either side of the dirt floor. The fire pit was built in the centre of the room, down on the hard-packed dirt, and several pots were boiling over the flames. A table stood in one corner, and he was set on a stool, and given a bowl of stew, and a tankard of something he assumed was ale.

 

“After you’ve eaten, they will take you to wherever you’re going,” Harper said. “Good luck John.”

 

He could only smile at her before she left.

 

There were other slaves in the room, busy preparing food for the feast. John didn’t pay them much mind, and simply ate. After over a week with just dried meat and water, this stew tasted incredible. He wasn’t sure exactly what was in it, and he honestly didn’t care. It was meat and vegetables, and that was all that mattered. The ale was good too, better than what he’d had before, but not very strong. He suspected that the slaves didn’t get the best, but that was okay. He had never really been one for alcohol anyway.

 

He tried dragging out eating for as long as possible, but there was only so much stew in his bowl. By the time he was finished eating, he could hear music and cheers coming from the other side of the wall. No doubt the feast had begun.

 

Almost as soon as he drank the last of his ale, a man was standing next to him, gesturing for him to come along. John knew better than to resist, but instead of walking through the door that would no doubt take him into the feast, he was taken through another door, and into a slim hallway. The roof was low, and so John had to crouch down as he walked. This was probably the passage the slaves took when moving about, so not to be seen. They walked past the room with the feast, and through a door that lead to another hallway, this time with several doors. One of the doors were opened, and he was shoved inside of it. The door closed behind him but wasn’t locked. They probably didn’t expect him to try and run. Where would he go, after all?

 

He was alone. The room was lit up with several candles, and in the middle of it stood a bed. Now he really was confused. Surely this wasn’t his room. He couldn’t imagine that slaves were given such luxury. No, this had to be someone else’s room. But why was he here?

 

None of it made sense. No matter how much he thought about it, he could not figure out why he was here. So, he started looking around. There were several chests of clothes, and a shield was propped up against the wall. An axe hung from a belt on a hook on the wall, and John moved over to it. The blood had been cleaned away, but it looked a lot like the axe Bellamy had been carrying.

 

Was this Bellamy’s room? It had to be. Bellamy was the one who had taken special interest in him. But why was he here, in his room? He was more confused now than ever. What could Bellamy possibly want from him?

 

*

 

He had no idea how long he waited there. Hours, most likely. He sat on the bed. He explored the various containers, finding bits of jewellery and what looked like the pieces of some game. He laid on the bed, trying to sleep, but the sounds from the feast and his nerves kept him awake. He wished he had something to do. Or that he at least knew what he was waiting for.

 

It sounded like the feast had begun to die down when the door suddenly opened, and Bellamy stepped inside. He was dressed in finer clothes this time, a tunic of a deep, vibrant blue, and a necklace of silver on his chest. He was holding two cups, in his hands, and he was grinning like someone who had been drinking.

 

John was quick to his feet and watched as Bellamy crossed the room towards him. He put one of the cups into John’s hand and raised his own.

 

“Skål,” he said, and then he drank. John hesitated, but he drank as well. This ale was stronger than the one he had in the kitchen and John did not mind one bit. Something was about to happen, and he hoped the alcohol would calm his nerves at least somewhat.

 

When he lowered his cup, he saw that Bellamy was watching him with that look again. The one he had given John when they first met. When he had spared his life. For a moment, they just stood there. Looking at one another. Then Bellamy took the cup from his hand and set them both on one of the tables.

 

The tall warrior then turned his gaze back on John and moved closer, and suddenly John found it hard to breathe. He felt his mouth go dry, and his heart beat a little faster. Bellamy raised his hand, and brushed rough, calloused fingers down John’s cheek. His forefinger caressing his lips. He was so close now that John could practically feel the heat radiating from Bellamy’s body. He could smell the ale on him, as well as smoke from the fire, and something else he just could not describe. Without thinking, he leaned inn closer. Swallowing nervously.

 

Bellamy said something in his own language, and this time it was soft. His hand was still on John’s cheek, caressing his skin slowly. He knew that it was a question, but John wasn’t sure what he was asking. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that Bellamy wasn’t going to hurt him. He just knew. Slowly, he nodded. He gave a shuddering breath, wishing he knew what would happen next.

 

When Bellamy leaned in and pressed his lips against John’s, he was caught completely off guard. Bellamy was kissing him. He was kissing him, even though they were both men. Somehow, John knew it was wrong. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be doing this. That he should pull back and try to get out of there.

 

But the thing was, he liked it. He liked the taste of ale on Bellamy’s lips. How warm and soft his lips were against his own. John had never been kissed before and had always thought of kissing as kinda gross. But when Bellamy slid his hand behind John’s head and parted his lips, John realised how wrong he had been.

 

He closed his eyes and kissed Bellamy back. Placed his hands on his chest but didn’t push him away. Instead, he curled his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Needing something to hold on to. Bellamy was in charge of the kiss, making John part his own lips. When he felt Bellamy’s warm, wet tongue against his bottom lip, he whimpered at the back of his throat and pressed closer to him.

 

Never in his life had John experienced any interest towards women. He had thought there was something wrong with him. That he would grow out of it. That perhaps if he married, he would come to love his wife. Now he knew why women hadn’t interested him.

 

When Bellamy pulled back, John knew he wanted more. He needed more. Bellamy had given him a taste of something forbidden. Something addictive. Something he had craved his whole life but hadn’t realised until now.

 

Bellamy said something in own language, and John wished now more than ever that he understood. He wished he knew how to tell him that he wanted more. That he wanted to be kissed again.

 

“Please,” he said, hoping Bellamy would understand. His fingers were still curled in the front of Bellamy’s tunic, so he tugged on it, trying to bring him closer. Bellamy just laughed and seemed to understand.

 

This time though, he didn’t go for John’s lips. Instead, he kissed John’s neck. Almost instinctively, John tilted his head to the side, allowing Bellamy better access. When he felt Bellamy’s tongue on his skin, he let out a soft sigh. When he felt Bellamy’s teeth, he gasped.

 

It became apparent that these Northmen had a very different mindset when it came to pleasure. At the monastery, he had been taught that pleasure was the sin of the flesh, and a temptation from the Devil. And here Bellamy was, clearly trying to make John feel good. Perhaps he was the Devil in disguise. Well, if he was, then John was ready to be a sinner.

 

When Bellamy pulled back this time, John knew what that look in his eyes was. Lust. He wanted John, desired him like a man desired a woman. And John wanted it too. He wanted to know what else Bellamy could do. Needed to know if it was more. He had never been with anyone before, not even a woman, but he knew what happened when a man and a woman lay together. Was it possible for two men to do the same? And would Bellamy want that?

 

Hesitantly, John untangled his hands from Bellamy’s tunic, instead placing his palms on his chest. He could feel the hard, solid muscle beneath the fabric, and found himself wondering what he looked like underneath. Slowly, he moved his hands down his chest, sliding them down his body until he reached the belt at his waist. He looked at Bellamy as he undid the buckle and let the belt fall to the floor. Letting him know that he wanted this. He wanted whatever Bellamy had in mind for him.

 

He grabbed the hem of Bellamy’s tunic and pulled it over his head. Let it too slide onto to the floor. His eyes roamed over the bronze skin, and he saw how his shoulders too were dusted with freckles. Bellamy seemed to approve, but he also let John explore. He was patient, and John appreciated it.

 

John placed his hand on the bare skin of Bellamy’s chest, letting his eyes wander. He had a tattoo on his left arm, and the ink was similar to the knotwork he had seen outside the longhouse. His fingers traced the lines with curiosity. There were also several scars on his body. On his arms, his chest, his stomach. This man had seen battle more than once and lived to tell about it.

 

Bellamy murmured something, and once more John wished he understood. Perhaps Harper would teach him their language. He would surely need it, if he was to live here. And he wanted to be able to tell Bellamy how stunning he was. How he took his breath away.

 

He felt Bellamy’s hands on him then, and his tunic was lifted over his head. Now he knew why they had given him something that was easy to take off. Bellamy had no intention of either of them wearing anything tonight. John felt a little self-conscious as Bellamy’s eyes wandered over his bare chest, but Bellamy seemed pleased. Pleased enough to run his fingers down John’s chest and stomach. But he didn’t stop there. His hand kept moving down, until it reached John’s crotch. He gasped when he felt Bellamy grab him through his trousers. He was already hard, and when he felt Bellamy give him a light squeeze, his hips bucked into his hand. He swallowed and looked up at Bellamy. Nodding. Giving him permission.

 

Bellamy let go of his crotch and pulled at the string that held up his trousers. The knot was undone, and the trousers fell down, pooling around John’s knees. John stepped out of them, as well as his shoes, now completely naked in front of the warrior. He shivered, but not because the room was cold. He was nervous. He had no idea what would happen next, but he knew that he wanted it. He wanted Bellamy to make him feel good.

 

After watching him for a moment, Bellamy pulled him into his arms and kissed him again, a bit rougher this time. His hands went down to grab John’s now bare ass, pulling him even closer. This time, John was bolder in the kiss. He sucked at Bellamy’s tongue when it entered his mouth, causing Bellamy to moan. It was a wonderful sound. John could also feel the hardness in Bellamy’s trousers, and pressed himself against it. His hands tangled themselves in Bellamy’s wild curls, tugging lightly at them. Bellamy seemed to like this a lot, because the next thing he knew, he was lifted from the floor. A few moments later, his back was lowered onto the bed, and Bellamy was on top of him. Pinning him down. Still kissing him. He could now feel the hardness in Bellamy’s pants press against his ass, and he knew what would happen. How they would do this.

 

Would it hurt? John had no idea. He hoped not, but he had heard women say that it could be quite painful the first time. Was it the same with two men? He wished he could ask. And just as he wished so, Bellamy was pulling back. He straightened up, and turned away from the bed, leaving John to wonder if he had done anything wrong. He scooted a bit further back on the bed, until his head hit the pillows, then he looked nervously at Bellamy, who was opening a box sitting on a shelf, and retrieving what looked to be a jar of something. Then he returned to the bed, and climbed onto it, kicking off his own shoes in the process, but keeping his trousers. Apparently, something needed to happen before they began, and it had everything to do with the jar.

 

Bellamy reached into it with two fingers and scooped up something that looked like grease. He wasn’t sure what else to describe it as. The jar was set down at the foot of the bed, and then Bellamy was positioning himself on top of John once more. He used his other hand to nudge John’s legs apart, and John spread them willingly. He watched as Bellamy lowered the hand with the greased-up fingers down between his legs, and then-

 

Oh. John let out a soft moan as he felt one of Bellamy’s fingers slide inside him. It was eased in by the grease, and John understood. He reached up to run his fingers through the dark, wild curls, panting softly as he looked up at him. Bellamy pushed the finger all the way inside, before he started bending and twisting it. John knew, without having to be told, that he was preparing him. That he was making him ready for his cock. And it felt wonderful. A little bit odd perhaps, but as Bellamy opened his ass, his eyes were opened to a whole new sensation.

 

A few moments later, he could feel the second finger slide inside of him. This time he hissed, and Bellamy stopped almost immediately. Pausing, looking at John to see whether he should proceed or withdraw. John took a moment to breathe and get used to the sensation. He could feel himself being stretched, and while it was slightly unpleasant, it wasn’t that bad.

 

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, trying his best to make Bellamy understand. “Keep going.”

 

He also nodded, to make sure Bellamy understood, and Bellamy nodded in return. A moment later, he could feel the stretching sensation resume, accompanied by a slight feeling of pain. Mostly though, it felt good. Really good. He was already wondering what his cock would feel like inside of him. He would know soon enough.

 

Bellamy bent and stretched the fingers, taking his time to make sure John was ready. When he was satisfied with his work, he pulled the fingers out. Almost immediately, John missed the feeling of being filled up. He was left lying there, waiting while Bellamy started to undo his own trousers. He watched in anticipation as Bellamy pulled the trousers down past his hips, and his mouth went try at the sight of his cock. He had only ever seen his own cock before, and never really thought much about it, but now he was staring at Bellamy’s. It was bigger than his own, wider and longer, which somehow wasn’t surprising. Not when looking at the rest of Bellamy’s body.

 

John licked his lips as he watched Bellamy reaching for the jar once more, scooping up some more grease, and beginning to stroke himself. Covering his cock in the grease. He could feel Bellamy’s eyes on him, but John’s gaze was fixed on his cock. The way Bellamy stroked himself, the movement of his hand. John had never touched himself, not even once, knowing that it was a sin to do so. Refusing to give up to the temptation of the flesh. But here, in this room, he could not care about what was a sin and what was not. Bellamy clearly didn’t care and was clearly enjoying John watching him.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Bellamy let go of his cock, and leaned forward. He crawled back on top of John, positioning his body between his legs. John suddenly felt nervous again, but he was too excited to stop now. He wanted to feel Bellamy. He wanted his cock inside of him.

 

The feeling of being filled was unlike nothing John had ever experienced or imagined. His head fell back as moans of pleasure escaped his lips, and Bellamy wasn’t even halfway in. It felt so incredibly good and he needed more, wanted more. He hooked his legs around Bellamy’s waist, wanting to draw him in deeper. This seemed to be the right thing to do, because Bellamy was leaning down to kiss his throat, while still pushing slowly inside of him. John kept his neck exposed, wanting to get every bit of pleasure he could. His arms were around Bellamy’s neck, holding onto him. Clinging to him.

 

When Bellamy started moving, John was almost certain he had died and gone to heaven, because nothing in this world could possibly feel this good. He could hear Bellamy moaning as he thrust his cock into John, pulling halfway out before filling him back up again. John’s own cock was trapped between them, leaking wetness onto his stomach. The thrusts were coming in a steady pace, and John was loving it. He loved the feeling of Bellamy’s mouth on his throat, the lips, tongue and teeth leaving sparks in their wake. He loved how with each thrust, he was pushed down into the bed. He loved how Bellamy filled him so perfectly, again and again, making John feel better than anything had ever done before. If this was what Bellamy wanted from him, then he would be more than willing to stay in his room.

 

He lost track of time. All that mattered was the two of them, their moans and gasps, the sound of skin slapping against skin. The feeling of Bellamy fucking him, the lips on his neck. He could see it in Bellamy’s eyes that he was enjoying it. Could see it in the look on his face. He was more than happy with the turn of the events and had probably hoped for this outcome. John somehow didn’t think that he would have forced himself on him. If that had been his intentions, he would never have been this patient to begin with.

 

A feeling was beginning to grow inside of John. A sort of heat, pooling in his groin. Like something was building up with each thrust. Bringing him closer and closer to something. He wanted Bellamy to keep going. Needed him to keep going, to help him reach whatever it was. It was drawing closer now, nearer and nearer, like it was a physical thing. Close. So close.

 

With a gasp, John’s whole body tensed up. His back arched off the bed, and the most intense sensation of pleasure crashed over him. He felt something warm and wet on his stomach that accompanied his release, because that’s what it was, release, and when he looked down, he saw stains of white on his stomach. His seed, he knew. What he would have used to make a woman pregnant. He had known about it, but not that it would feel like that.

 

Bellamy was still going, and he was grinning now. The speed behind his thrusts increased, and John guessed that he too was close to his release. A few moments later, he felt Bellamy give one, last thrust, followed by the sensation of being filled with his seed. It was incredible, and John let his eyes close, now grinning himself.

 

He could feel Bellamy’s body relax, and when he opened his eyes, he was met with deep, brown ones. Without hesitation, John leaned up and pressed a kiss to Bellamy’s lips. It was a soft, sweet kiss. A sort of thanks. Bellamy kissed him back, and for a moment they stayed like that, Bellamy still inside of him.

 

*

 

John woke up the next morning, wrapped up in Bellamy’s arms, back pressed to that firm, broad chest. To his surprise, he felt safe. Protected. He knew that Bellamy wouldn’t let anyone here hurt him. At least he hoped so. Everything that had happened so far indicated that Bellamy intended to keep him. Unless he just wanted to use him, and then pass him on. The very thought made him shiver.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he felt Bellamy stirring. Then he felt lips on his shoulder, and he heard that gruff voice murmur something. Carefully, John shifted in Bellamy’s arms, so he was facing him, and without hesitation, he leaned in to kiss him. He was relieved when Bellamy kissed him back, slowly, softly. When Bellamy pulled back, he was smiling.

 

“Du er min,” he said, and while John didn’t understand the words, he understood the meaning behind them. So, this wasn’t a temporary thing then. This was permanent.

 

“I belong to you,” John said. “I still… I still don’t understand everything, but I know that last night was incredible. I never knew what I wanted until you gave it to me. Until you showed up and saved me from a horrible life. Thank you.”

 

He knew he had to learn the language, so he could tell Bellamy this, but for now this was enough. And Bellamy seemed satisfied too, even though he didn’t understand John either. They would work on it. The important part was that they were on the same page. He had no idea how it happened, but he was glad it had.

 

*

 

They had to get out of bed eventually, but only after spending what felt like forever kissing and cuddling. Nothing had ever felt more natural than being with Bellamy, and John was beginning to realise why he had never been interested in marrying a woman. Some part of him must have known, but he simply hadn’t realised until Bellamy came and carried him away to some strange land to be his lover.

 

Bellamy took him to the kitchens after they dressed, and John was sat down at the same table and given more bread and stew. He almost expected Bellamy to sit and eat with him, but Bellamy left, and John didn’t know where to. So, he sat there, eating his breakfast while the servants worked around him.

 

When he finished eating, he had no idea where to go, or what to do. He stepped out of the door he had entered through last night, and out into the cool morning air. It was a lot colder than he was used to, but the warm wool clothes helped a lot. He just hoped they would give him some warmer clothes when winter came.

 

He spotted Harper stepping inside the cottage he had been taken to yesterday, and since she was the only person who spoke his language, he decided to follow her. Perhaps she could teach him the language of the Northmen, as well as answer his questions. Because he had a lot of them.

 

The door wasn’t locked, so John could enter without problem. Harper was the only one there, and she was mending some clothes with needle and thread. She looked up and smiled when she saw him.

 

“John,” she said. “I take that it went alright.”

 

“Yes,” John said, moving over to sit down next to her. “I mean, I’m alive. They didn’t sacrifice me or anything like that.”

 

“I didn’t think they would,” Harper said. “They usually only make sacrifices when there is famine or sickness, or to get safe travels on sea or fortune in war. And they rarely ever sacrifice humans, mostly animals.”

 

John blinked. So, they did sacrifice humans. Well, he would have to be on his best behaviour then, so they wouldn’t think him expendable. He didn’t think they would choose him, not when he was with Bellamy. And Bellamy obviously had some high-ranking position.

 

“Do you know who Bellamy is?” he asked. He probably should have asked yesterday, since Bellamy had taken a special interest in him, but it hadn’t crossed his mind. Not after he had been taken here by someone other than Bellamy.

 

Harper gave him a surprised look, but then the pieces seemed to fall into place in her mind. As if it all suddenly made sense.

 

“He is the Jarl’s son,” she said. “And one day, he will be Jarl as well. Is he the one who owns you?”

 

John nodded. He didn’t like the thought of being owned, but he supposed that was the reality of it. And he had a feeling that in this world, it would be safest to belong to Bellamy. Especially if he was the son of the ruler, and heir to the power.

 

“He… He took me into his bed last night,” John admitted. Hoping this was accepted here, and not something he should keep secret. But he had to tell someone, and Harper was the only one he could talk to.

 

Harper nodded.

 

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “He has a preference for men. I should have realised when you were sent to us yesterday to be bathed.”

 

So, this was a common thing then. John didn’t know what to think. Would Bellamy keep him around for a bit, and then send him away when he was sick of him? If that was the case, then John didn’t know where to go. Bellamy was the only person here who seemed to care about him. But if he only wanted him for sex, then John wasn’t sure what he would do.

 

“What happened to the others?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer. Perhaps they were the ones who got sacrificed, once Bellamy was done with them.

 

“There was only one before you,” Harper said. “He has been with other men from the village, but neither of them stuck around. A few years ago, he returned from a raid with a slave boy. The boy attempted to run away and was killed. I don’t think he was here for more than a few days, poor thing.”

 

John didn’t know if he should be relieved or not. Had Bellamy forced that boy to sleep with him? He never once forced John. And he hoped he wouldn’t, either, if there ever came a time when John didn’t want to.

 

“He didn’t force you, did he?”

 

Harper’s voice was serious, and he could see the concern in her eyes. She probably couldn’t do anything about it, except talk to him. But at least she cared enough to ask.

 

“No,” John said. “No, I was a bit surprised when they took me to his chambers, and when he approached me, but he didn’t do anything that I didn’t want to.”

 

And oh, how he’d wanted it. How he had enjoyed it. How he was looking forward to tonight. This time, he knew what he was coming to, and what Bellamy expected to happen.

 

“Can you teach me their language?” John asked. “I cannot speak to him, and I don’t understand what he says to me. He saved my life. I was a monk at a monastery, and it was horrible. They would beat me and starve me, and the winter was so cold. I even considered taking my own life, until he came and took me here.”

 

It was crazy, but after living such a terrible life, he was happy to be here. Especially if Bellamy wanted him for more than one night. Maybe this was his chance to start a new life.

 

“I can teach you,” Harper said, her smile soft and gentle. “I’m glad you’re being treated well. They are usually good with us, but at feasts when they get drunk, some can get a bit uncomfortable.”

 

John nodded. He had heard what men could be like, and he didn’t want to experience anything like that. But if he belonged to Bellamy, and if Bellamy wanted him for himself, then he knew he would be safe.

 

They spent most of the day going over various phrases that would help John understand them. It would take some time to learn the language, but he was determined to learn it. If he was going to live here, he needed to be able to speak and understand what was being said, or else he wouldn’t get very far.

 

Harper was a good teacher, and though John struggled with some pronunciations, she was patient, and made him try several times until he got it right. She told him that it has taken her a whole winter to master the language, and that he was doing great.

 

He didn’t see Bellamy until that evening, when he was once again taken to his chamber after supper. Bellamy had most likely been out all day, doing whatever he did when he wasn’t raiding. John realised that he had a lot to learn, but perhaps now that he spoke some phrases, it would be easier to do so.

 

“I missed you,” he told Bellamy in that strange, foreign language. And he had missed him. It wasn’t a lie, or something he said simply to be polite. Of course, he knew that this was how he survived. But he liked Bellamy, and he wanted to get to know him. And he also wanted to feel his hands on his body once more.

 

Bellamy seemed pleased with this, because he moved over to John and pulled him into a kiss. John didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, wrapping his arms around Bellamy’s neck. It was the best feeling in the world, feeling this wanted. Even if Bellamy just wanted his body, it was a lot better than his life at the monastery.

 

“You speak it well,” Bellamy said as he pulled back, and it took John a few moments to understand it, but he did. It was such a relief, after all those days of not knowing how to communicate with him.

 

Already, he could feel Bellamy’s hands travelling up under his tunic, rough and calloused palms running over his chest. It was such an addictive touch, and John didn’t hesitate to pull his tunic over his head to give Bellamy better access.

 

“I am yours,” John said, looking at Bellamy. “I want it. I want you.”

 

Bellamy knew this, he had to after last night, but the relief on his face told John that he had longed to hear it. When he spoke the language better, he would ask about the other boy, and what happened. But tonight, he didn’t matter. All that mattered to John was the tall, handsome man in front of him, who would make him feel better than anyone ever had before.

 

*

 

The next few weeks passed like that. John would spend the days with Harper, helping her with her chores, and learning more of the language. He would eat alone, and then he would go to Bellamy’s chamber and wait for him. It was a nice routine, a rhythm to the day. John had gotten used to routine at the monastery, but he preferred this. Especially because Bellamy was so good to him.

 

Around three weeks after he had arrived, Bellamy asked him to have breakfast with him. They ate together outside the longhouse, sitting in the grass and sharing a loaf of bread. They didn’t talk, they just sat together. John liked it a lot. They didn’t need to speak. Just knowing that Bellamy enjoyed his company was enough.

 

The next day, Bellamy insisted on teaching him how to ride. John had never sat on a real horse, just a mule, but Bellamy insisted he needed to know how to ride. They understood each other better with every passing day, and John had come to learn so much about Bellamy.

 

He had a sister, Octavia, who was the woman he had seen him with at the monastery. She liked to be out on her own, hunting in the forest or travelling between villages, so Bellamy only really saw her for raids. He was five summers older than John, though it hardly mattered. Their mother was dead, and their father, Marcus, had never married again.

 

He was a fair rider, an excellent fighter, and could even sing when he felt like it. He loved the thunder, when John asked him why, Bellamy began telling him of the gods. There were several of them, and Bellamy said that they were all around. That there was a god of the thunder, and a god of the sea. The god for war was a woman, and she was also the god of love. John was fascinated by these stories, and every night, after they’d had sex, he would ask Bellamy for a story, and Bellamy was more than happy to tell them to him.

 

And John told him in turn about his own life at the farm. How he had left for the monastery to avoid marrying a girl from the village, and how poorly the monks had treated him. How his father had died, and how hard it had been for him. When he told Bellamy about the beatings, Bellamy was livid. It took John forever to calm him down and tell him that Brother Charles was dead. That Bellamy had saved him from a terrible life. That he had saved him from killing himself.

 

*

 

Five months after John had come to the village, he finally mustered up the courage to ask him about the other boy. They were laying in bed, John draped across Bellamy’s body, head resting on his chest. Listening to the steady beat of his heart.

 

At first, Bellamy was silent. It was clear that this was a subject he didn’t want to talk about, and John almost regretted asking. But then Bellamy began to talk, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

 

“We used to sail east rather than west,” he said quietly. “I met a boy there, around your age, and just like the first time I laid eyes on you, I just knew that I had to have him. I was patient with him on the trip back and treated him well. But he resisted me. He recoiled from my touch, even spat in my face. When I tried to take him into my bed, he clawed at my face and screamed at me. I didn’t touch him after that. When he ran away, I was heartbroken. They brought his body to me after, and they had nearly hacked him in half. I wished I had never taken him with me.”

 

“Then why did you do it again?” John asked carefully. “Why did you take me away, when you knew what might happen?”

 

John had learned that these people had a different view on things. That stealing people away wasn’t uncommon. In fact, it was encouraged. Slaves and free people were treated differently. They had different rights. Slaves had no rights. And every free man could make a slave of another, if he wished to do so. It was just the way of things, and while John didn’t exactly approve, he knew that he couldn’t change Bellamy’s mind on the matter.

 

“Because the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were special,” Bellamy said. “And if I didn’t take you, the others would have killed you. Or you would have been sold to someone who would have treated you badly.”

 

It was a better answer than John had expected, and he knew Bellamy was right. It was better than death. A lot better than death. Because despite what he knew he should feel, John was happy here. He was happy with Bellamy. And while he had not chosen this himself, he knew that Bellamy had chosen him. He could have chosen anyone, and he had chosen him.

 

John propped himself up on his elbow to look at Bellamy, another question at the tip of his tongue. It was one he had wanted to ask for a very long time, but he was so afraid of the answer. He didn’t know what exactly he was to Bellamy, but he knew that he was the only one he took into his bed. And lately, they had been spending most of their days together, hunting, riding, Bellamy had even taught him how to defend himself. It felt like they were more than just master and slave, but he wasn’t sure. And he wouldn’t be sure until he asked.

 

“Am I still your slave?”

 

Their eyes met, and John could see the hesitation in Bellamy’s gaze. They had never talked about this before, and Bellamy had never really said that he was his slave, but it was implied. Bellamy was the one in control, after all. Even if he was of a higher rank, and John would always be beneath him, he wanted to know if he had a rank at all.

 

“Does it matter?” Bellamy asked.

 

“Yes,” John said, sitting up more, looking down at Bellamy. Gaining at least a little bit of ground, feeling more secure. Bellamy didn’t move. He just lay there, gazing up at John. “It matters because I’ve noticed that in your world, slaves are often treated worse than dogs.”

 

Bellamy just looked at him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. John didn’t know if he should feel annoyed or not. This was a serious conversation, and he needed to know where he stood. He’d been here for months, and he still didn’t know.

 

“Do I treat you like a dog?” Bellamy finally asked, and John couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

 

“That’s not my point,” John said. “Legally, you could beat me to death. Your men could hunt me down and cut me in half if I tried to run. And there would be no penalty. Everyone else in your world is subject to the law. A man could rape his slave, but not a free man or woman.”

 

“It is true that we distinguish between those captured in battle, and our own free men and women. In any case, why do you say “your world”? You live here now. This is your world. And I’ve never seen you try to escape.”

 

John lowered his gaze at this. He knew Bellamy could be harsh sometimes. Direct. He would often say things without trying to soften the blow, and John was still getting used to it. It was one of the things he liked about Bellamy though. At the monastery, and back in the village, everyone would just speak in circles. They would preach and make speeches, and quote greater men, all to hide how they really felt. What they really thought. He had never known Bellamy to lie.

 

“Even if I wanted to escape, I would have nowhere to go,” John said. “I do not have a home. My father is dead. The monastery is no more, and even if I could return there, I would rather die than do so.”

 

He was grateful to see that Bellamy was listening. That he was paying attention to his words. That he actually cared about John’s thoughts and feelings.

 

“But I don’t want to escape,” he said. “You’re good to me. I like it here. But I would like to be a free man.”

 

Now Bellamy was sitting up. He took John’s face into his hands and searched his eyes. John was pretty sure he saw worry there, and it didn’t make sense. Why would this worry Bellamy? All he was asking was to be free. To be subject to the law. To have rights.

 

“If you were a free man?” Bellamy asked, still searching his eyes. “Would you still be with me?”

 

For a moment, John could just stare at him. Suddenly the worry made sense. It all made sense. Why the subject had never been brought up. Why Bellamy hadn’t offered John his freedom sooner. He was afraid. Afraid that if John was free, he would leave. If he was free, he would leave Bellamy and be with someone else. Bellamy was afraid of being left alone.

 

“Of course I would be with you,” John smiled. “I want to be with you, Bellamy. You make me happier than anyone has done before you. You make me feel whole. Like I belong somewhere.”

 

He had found a home in Bellamy’s arms. Even if the rest of this world still felt strange to him, and even if he didn’t always understand it, he knew that this was where he belonged. Here, with Bellamy. The man who had saved his life.

 

Bellamy smiled at him and ran his fingers through John’s hair. It was getting rather long, and Bellamy would sometimes braid it.

 

“Then stay with me,” he said. “As a free man.”

 

John leaned in and kissed him, feeling Bellamy’s arms wrap around his waist. Holding him close. Making him feel safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Ek heitir - My name is  
> Fjord - a type of landscape where steep mountains meet the sea on either side  
> Skål - Cheers (when drinking)  
> Du er min - You are mine
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I don't think I've ever published a fic this long, and I'm really glad I didn't break it up into chapters, because then I never would have finished it. Only took me two years, but I got it done eventually!
> 
> My tumblr is @bunker-boyfriends, come talk about murphamy with me!


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